Waiting for a Trainwreck
by WhiteTieNikki
Summary: After losing her twin brother to a group suicide, Peace isn't sure where she fits into her band, or her life, anymore. It takes her two best friends, a tough as nails band director, and a quirky new boy to point her in the right direction.


This is just something I've been thinking about. We'll see where it goes.

Waiting for a Trainwreck  
**Chapter One**

_I've got five fingers on each hand for every mistake that I've made _

_Cause my tongue is tied to tonsils and I need to shit and shave _

_I'm a shade too pale for handsome and have habits I can't shake _

_And if you try to take that from me well I'll never be the same _

_Train wreck, that I am _

_And I am what I am what I am _

_What I am, a train wreck_

_**-3OH!3, "Colorado Sunrise"**_

Peace could feel the stares on her back as she pulled out her clarinet from its case and put the pieces together. She attempted to keep her expression composed as she grabbed her sheet music and made her way to her seat, trying to avoid tripping over miscellaneous objects strewn across the band hall floor.

The other clarinet players fixed her with wary stares as she sat down. A brown-haired junior leaned over. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Peace nodded quickly. "I'm fine," she said, attempting to appear confidence in her response and avoid further questioning. The sophomore nodded very slowly, obviously not believing her, but not willing to pursue the matter, either.

Peace sat back in her seat and let out a sigh. If every day for the rest of the year would be like this, then she just might kill herself.

No. No, she couldn't think like that. Hurriedly, she pushed dark, dangerous images out of her mind. Those thoughts treaded too far into unsafe territory. She tried to focus instead on her band director, Mr. Kellan, as he stepped up onto the podium and tapped his baton against the conductor's stand, a sign for the students to quiet down.

"So. The first day of school is finally here," he began. Some students clapped, and a couple of senior trumpet players began to whoop and cheer loudly, eliciting glares from most of the woodwind players.

Mr. Kellan held up his hands for the students to be quiet. "I know that you are all excited," he said, "and so am I. Still, we can't forget all of the great accomplishments we achieved last year, can we?"

"Region marching champs!" the first-chair tuba player shouted out.

"First place at Pike festival," a flute player added. Mr. Kellan nodded approvingly.

"We did all of this with a lot of hard work and perserverance, and guess what? The new year is only just beginning. We have so much time left to grow stronger, get better. And I don't know about you guys, but that is what I'm prepared to do."

"But before we can start, there is one more thing that I want to talk to you about."

Peace felt her stomach tighten painfully, skin suddenly turning cold and clammy. She knew what was coming; she had never seen Mr. Kellan look as grave as he did now. He could only be thinking about one thing.

"As many of you probably know, there was a very serious incident this past Tuesday. This…accident…involved many teenagers, including our own Art Love. Art died early Wednesday morning, and his funeral was yesterday. I would appreciate it if we could all share a few moments of silence for him."

Mr. Kellan bowed his head and, after a few moments, most of the students followed suit. Peace let her head fall to her chest, clenching her eyes shut and gritting her teeth. She was _not _going to start crying here, in the middle of class, in front of a quarter of the band. Crying was all she had been doing for nearly a week; there had to be a limit to how many salty tears one human could shed in a lifetime, and Peace felt that she had far exceeded that limit.

After a few moments, Mr. Kellan lifted his head and squared his shoulders, and the students picked up their instruments, ready to play the first note at the director's command. Peace, sitting in the middle of the second row, was relieved. She would see to it that this would be a normal day. Art's 'accident', as Mr. Kellan had so eloquently put it, was no reason for her life to veer off course.

Still, as she lifted her clarinet to her lips and joined the rest of the band in the warm up scale, she couldn't help but feel that some part of her, large enough to be noticed, had hallowed and emptied, leaving a hard, pitiful case in its place. And Peace had no idea how to fill it.

* * *

"Peace, can you start cooking the macaroni?"

Peace rolled her eyes but still grabbed a pan and filled it halfway with water, setting it on the stove to boil.

"How was your day?" her mother asked, as she stuck a tray of fish sticks in the oven.

Peace shrugged. "It was fine. A little boring, I guess."

"Boring? I don't send you to that school to be bored. Maybe I should call the principal and complain to him. Public school systems have become entirely too lax in recent years-"

"Mom," Peace interrupted, "chill, it's not a big deal. A boring day isn't that bad every once in a while."

Peace's mother breathed in deeply and smiled, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. "I'm sorry," she apologized ruefully. "It's just been a very long day. One of my clients switched the location for her portraits at the last minute, so I had to drive an extra half hour both ways."

Peace's mother, Missy Love, was a professional photographer; her job often took her to places a good many miles out of town, in hopes of catching 'the perfect picture' for her customers. She was good at what she did, which meant she worked an abundance of hours, and often had to resort to canned or packaged food as meals for her children. Thus, tonight's dinner featured fish sticks, macaroni, and juice pouches, even for Peace.

"You know, maybe I'm old enough to start cooking for myself," Peace offered hopefully, pouring the pasta into the boiling water. "I am fifteen, after all."

Her mother shot her a look. "Sweetie, we've been over this," she began tiredly. "If I let you cook, and we start having different meals every time we eat, then your siblings will all want to pick their favorite foods as well. Do you really want to be the one to start that?"

Peace sighed. "I guess not," she muttered. Her mother patted her lightly on the shoulder and went upstairs to email some of her clients while the food was cooking.

Tossing the cardboard macaroni box into the recycling bin, Peace wandered into the living room. All of her siblings were seated in front of the television, watching cartoons. Hope, the oldest one besides Peace, at age twelve, sat in the back with baby Serenity lying in her lap. Skye and Raine were cutting up Barbie clothes, glancing up occasionally at the TV. Chance, the only boy, sat off to the side, working on homework.

"Anything interesting on TV?" Peace asked, settling down on the sofa. Hope twisted around for a moment to roll her eyes. "The twins won't let me change the channel," she complained.

Raine looked up. "Hey!" she said. "Bongo's backpack is our favorite show. We watch it every day!"

"It's stupid," said Hope flatly.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is NOT!"

Serenity began to cry. Hope checked her diaper and groaned. "I'll be right back," she said, standing and taking the baby to the room that Serenity, Raine, and Skye shared.

"We should hire a nanny," Peace said, tossing the remote from hand to hand. "I know nannies cost a lot, but one could really help us out."

"Tell Mom that," Chance muttered, erasing something from his paper.

"Maybe I will."

"You won't."

Peace shot her younger brother a frown. "Thanks for your support," she said, tossing the remote onto the sofa and heading back into the kitchen. The pasta was bubbling happily, and she glanced at the pot for a few moments, suddenly tired. Maybe she should take a nap…

The phone rang.

"Peace, could you get that?" her mother called from down the hallway.

"Ew! Peace, Serenity just peed on me!" Hope shouted, sounding disgusted.

"Peace! Skye is hogging the remote!" Raine screamed.

Nope. In this house, there simply wasn't space for any peace.

* * *

Please review? It would be amazing :)

QotC (Question of the Chapter): **Which celebrity would you most like to throw a rotten tomato at?**


End file.
